


In a Meadow Fair

by wednesday



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Time, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: While travelling with Jaskier, Geralt has an unfortunate encounter with flowers that have a very particular effect on witchers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 565
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	In a Meadow Fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rudigersmooch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudigersmooch/gifts).



Geralt stumbled away from the meadow, but he could already feel it was too late. His clothes felt instantly too rough and hot against his skin. He resisted the urge to draw deep breaths – it would only make things worse – but all he achieved was a coughing fit that almost sent him to his knees. 

“ _Okay_ , apparently you don’t agree. You don’t have to be so dramatic about it, you could have just said no,” Jaskier said, and followed it with a horrific attempt at mimicking Geralt’s voice, “No, we will _not_ be sleeping in the nice field of flowers tonight, or I will die from the sweet scent. Let’s go find some rocks or tree roots to sleep on instead.” 

It sounded nothing like Geralt; the only accurate part was that a witcher _would_ die from those cursed flowers. He clutched at his throat until he got his breathing back to normal, and tried to keep walking. And stumbled on the second step. 

“What –? Geralt? Are you unwell?” Jaskier asked. Whatever Geralt looked like, it must have been damn unwell indeed, going both by the way he felt, and how fast Jaskier switched from being indignant to being concerned. He looked at Geralt with his pretty, sea colored eyes and put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, and… Geralt shook off the distraction as well as Jaskier’s hand and used all his focus to keep walking. 

“I need a brothel.” 

“Isn’t that a bit sudden?” Jaskier asked, puzzled, but then a familiar considering gleam appeared in his eyes. “But of course a good romp in the sheets is an excellent cure for all that may ail a man! Well, most things that can ail a man. Many things? No, that doesn’t sound as impressive.” He spoke with the voice of a bard desperately wishing to write down his thoughts, and Geralt knew from experience how long that could take. And more often than not Jaskier would end up with just a few lines of limerick. Watching him get lost in it for hours was sometimes strangely captivating, however much Geralt would deny it if asked. But he had no time for that now, though the urge to stare at Jaskier was stronger than ever. He had no time _because_ of that. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled. He was already using more of his focus than he’d like to resist the impulse to take all of his clothes off. And even more to stop himself from asking Jaskier to assist him with it, which was a lot more worrying. 

“Sadly the lovely town of Pirn has no brothels, trust me, I asked. But the innkeeper’s daughter is very friendly and was _very_ interested in hearing more about the White Wolf. Just if you want to, you know, turn back now and spend a night in a real bed and not sleeping on the ground.” 

“Does the innkeep have any sons?” Wouldn’t help much, since the pollen was spreading fast enough that Geralt wasn’t sure he could walk back to the road, never mind ride back to town and find anyone suitable for what he needed. And he needed it badly. 

And Jaskier was here, but Geralt was determined to try finding another solution. It was getting increasingly more difficult to remember why, though. 

“No, I –” Jaskier seemed thrown for a moment, but very fast found a way to bring it back around in his favor. “Well, if we were to go back, you could find out!” he exclaimed with a great deal of triumph in his voice. 

Determined to get as far away as possible from that meadow while he still could, Geralt gritted his teeth and kept walking. 

“Geralt? We’re not going back, are we?” Jaskier finally noticed how far Geralt had gotten, which was admittedly not far, and jogged back to Geralt’s side. “Why the sudden interest in a brothel, anyway?” 

Geralt made the mistake of looking at him while he spoke, and as Jaskier’s lips moved around the words ‘interest’ and ‘brothel’, a nearly physical wave of yearning hit Geralt right in the chest. And groin. 

He stumbled worse than before and would have fallen, if Jaskier hadn’t caught him. Truth be told, Geralt fell in his direction and Jaskier just flailed his hands vigorously in an attempt to stop them both from ending up on the ground. “Geralt, are you –” Geralt was in no state to avoid or even notice Jaskier’s hand before it landed squarely on the front of Geralt’s pants. He very very clearly noticed that, as well as the loud groan that fell from his lips before he could even think to stop it. Or the way his hips rocked forward before he regained some control over himself. 

“Ooh! Really?” 

Jaskier sounded almost gleeful, and Geralt had a book’s worth of curses he would have wanted to say in response to that. If Jaskier’s hand wouldn’t still be pressing directly against Geralt’s cock. Feeling absolutely incapable of saying or doing anything, Geralt stayed draped over Jaskier, chin hooked over his shoulder. Then Jaskier kind of – wriggled his hand against Geralt’s cock, almost like he was trying to get a better sense of the shape, and Geralt choked on his own spit. 

“This is fascinating! I’d always dismissed the ‘magical herbs’ of that sort in poems as extremely lazy storytelling.” Jaskier stopped moving, but did not seem to find any issue with their position, nor the position of his hand. And if he had no problem with this, maybe… There would be no harm in asking, at least. 

“Imagine, being struck with unquenchable lust just from the scent of a flower! Surely if they were real, people would buy and sell them on every street corner–” 

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt interrupted. Then he had to take several deep breaths and mercifully there was a whole minute of silence for him to do so. Though Jaskier switched from talking to faintly fidgeting, which under the circumstances was infinitely more distracting. Maybe Geralt had enough time to get to a town and pay someone, but he really really didn’t want to, not when Jaskier was so close and so impossibly enticing. 

Finally feeling as steady as he could get right now, Geralt tried to step back. He didn’t want to – touching someone warm and alive felt incredible. Better than he could remember ever feeling before, even though he knew it was just an illusion, just the flower toxins. 

The moment he was no longer leaning on Jaskier, Geralt almost collapsed, and Jaskier had to catch him again, this time with less flailing. 

“Fuck.” 

“You don’t quite have the ‘struck with unquenchable lust’ look right now,” Jaskier said after a moment of consideration. He frowned and examined Geralt’s face as if he had the faintest idea of medicine. “Maybe it’s unrelated – you could be poisoned _and_ struck with lust.” 

“It’s related.” 

“Are you sure? Because–” Jaskier was in the middle of some unclear gesture towards himself, though Geralt could guess the gist of it, and it made him roll his eyes. While it was true that Jaskier was unusually handsome and unfortunately well aware of it, Geralt was very sure he’d never given any indication he had noticed. Though now that he was so afflicted by the damned pollen, he still didn’t have to admit it – all he needed was sex. Maybe they could get this over with and get back to how things had been so far. With some awkwardness, but that would pass. 

“I need someone to fuck me,” Geralt said. Jaskier was definitely quick enough to notice he was the only ‘someone’ available for miles. Geralt could almost see the understanding dawn in his eyes. 

“A-ha!” The triumphant exclamation was unexpected. Geralt frowned. “That means every word in the Sonnet of Glea was a complete fabrication! Not a kernel of fact anywhere!” 

Geralt sighed and kept watching Jaskier’s at the moment irresistibly alluring face, and wondered if he should be even more direct, or if he’d have better luck trying to make his way back to town. Unlike most men, Jaskier was not a fool. He was, however, picky of what subjects he applied his mind to. It was in turns endearing and infuriating, like everything else about him. 

Then Jaskier continued with, “Anyway, why didn’t you say so from the start,” and shocked Geralt by soundly kissing him. And kept kissing him, barely pausing even when they both went down to their knees, even when he helped Geralt undress with unexpected finesse. 

The kiss finally ended when Geralt turned and got on his hands and knees. And Jaskier immediately proceeded to kiss every inch of Geralt’s back, as if trying to map it with his lips. 

Geralt hadn’t considered in detail how Jaskier would be in bed, but if he had, he would have expected less silence. Against that expectation, Jaskier seemed determined to use his lips for everything but talking. 

With his hands however, he managed to find some kind of oil. Geralt really hoped it wasn’t one of his sword oils, but he didn’t care enough to make sure. He didn’t care much about anything but Jaskier’s hands and his lips on him. And then Jaskier pushed thoroughly oiled fingers inside him, and Geralt arched his back and moaned, and decided he couldn’t complain much about those damned flowers. 

It started feeling like not enough long before Jaskier deemed him ready. Or maybe he was too preoccupied with wringing as many different sounds as he could from Geralt by using just his fingers. Very talented fingers that Geralt could definitely appreciate any other day, but now they just made him all the more desperate. It didn’t stop him from rocking back into every thrust, but he did eventually get so frustrated that he complained. 

“If this was enough, I would have done it myself.” 

“You can’t just rush into things, Geralt,” Jaskier admonished. It was not what Geralt wanted to hear at all. Then Jaskier did pull his fingers out and Geralt whined at the loss. Before he could complain again, Jaskier positioned his cock and pushed inside, more slowly than Geralt thought he could take. 

It felt like it took forever, and Geralt loved and hated every moment of it. The cock sliding inside him was angled perfectly, brushed against every place inside him that he wanted touched, reached so much deeper than Jaskier’s fingers. But it still felt like not enough, like drinking and only getting more thirsty. Geralt tried to push back, to do something, but Jaskier kept his hips in place and kept going just as slowly until he was fully inside. He only paused for a moment. 

Geralt heard how fast both their breaths were, how fast Jaskier’s heartbeat was. 

Then finally Jaskier pulled back and thrust back inside with enough force to send Geralt down to his forearms. The change in position only made everything feel that much more when Jaskier started up a fast rhythm. Every thrust felt like it reached deeper than the last and Geralt wanted that, wanted Jaskier’s cock to fill him, wanted to feel it forever. His skin felt feverish, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the flowers or from how desperately close, but not quite on the edge Geralt felt. 

The longer Jaskier fucked him, the more maddening the feeling of almost _almost_ coming got, until Geralt was ready to start begging. He couldn’t remember the words, though, couldn’t think past the next thrust, so all he managed was a litany of _please please please_. 

It seemed to get his meaning across – Jaskier’s thrusts became punishingly hard. Geralt made a slew of wordless sounds and then made no sounds at all. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing and he felt too good to care. Waves and waves of pleasure washed all over his body. That too felt like it went on forever, and Geralt just rode it out, helpless and absolutely okay with that. 

“Is that–” Jaskier sounded winded, “Was that enough, do you think?” He was still thrusting, not as deep or hard as before, but he was definitely not done yet. Geralt could still feel his whole body tingle and burn. Could feel himself clenching around Jaskier’s cock. 

The pollen had run its course, and yet… Geralt wanted to keep going, he realized with some shock. He wanted Jaskier’s cock inside him, and wanted more of that maddening desperation to come. Maybe he was still under the effects of the flowers. Couldn’t hurt to make sure, anyway, and it was more than rude to just leave Jaskier unsatisfied. 

“Keep going,” he said, his voice sounding thoroughly ruined. 

Jaskier did, and worked his way back to a punishing rhythm within a minute. Even though Geralt could hear how fast his heart was beating, could almost feel the pulse where Jaskier’s cock was stretching him open, could smell in his sweat how close he was. Even with all of that, Jaskier kept steadily fucking Geralt as if he could go on as long as Geralt needed him to. 

That thought made Geralt moan, made his face burn when he imagined Jaskier taking him just like this for the rest of the day, until Geralt was utterly spent in a way he’d never been before. There was no way Jaskier could know what Geralt was thinking of, but Geralt still pressed his face more firmly into the mossy ground when he felt himself harden again already. 

Every thrust now felt like too much and sent an echo of sensation all through Geralt’s body, but he still rocked his hips back into every one of them. 

Jaskier leaned forward over Geralt, braced himself on one of his hands all without slowing down. With his free hand he reached for Geralt’s cock and started stroking. It shouldn’t have felt good so soon after coming, but the ache, the phantom tug deep in his balls only made everything more sharp. Geralt could see sparks flashing all over the inside of his eyelids accompanying the sparks of pleasure jumping all across his skin. 

Finally Jaskier’s thrusts stuttered, got uneven. Geralt pressed back into every one of them, even with a hand on his cock, until an especially hard thrust sent him over the edge again. He felt faintly how Jaskier finished just after him, inside him. 

They collapsed to the side, still pressed together. 

Geralt laid in the damp grass and felt both incredible and stunned. Waves of warmth were still spilling over his skin. He could feel a faint tremble in the muscles of his thighs. He had never before felt so… whatever that had been. Never felt the need to beg, never wanted a cock inside him so badly and definitely never wanted someone to keep fucking him again and again. He would have blamed it on the pollen, but he was familiar with the effects. He’d encountered it before, and it was no guarantee the sex would be any better than usual. 

Jaskier seemed not nearly as conflicted as Geralt – he kept trailing lazy kisses over Geralt’s shoulders, seemingly content with what they’d just done and in no hurry to reestablish any distance. 

Without those cursed flowers Geralt might have lived his whole life without finding out how great Jaskier’s cock was. He might have preferred not knowing, because now… Fuck, he was so fucked. 

Geralt sighed with the realization that if anyone was going to make this awkward, it would most likely be him and not Jaskier. 

He really hated those flowers. 


End file.
